Sherlock's Trick
by Alice Bekett
Summary: Sherlock likes to pretend to be adverse to garlic, mirrors, crosses etc. All in an effort to freak Anderson out. John catches on, and aids Sherlock. They make a bet on when Anderson will finally break and bring a wooden cross and mallet to work. Please don't sue me, I don't own Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

John started noticing it after Sherlock had been called to crime scenes during the day. Sherlock avoided direct contact with the sun, mirrors and people when they were eating garlic, among other things.

One day, outside a crime scene, John noticed Anderson kept giving Sherlock hopeful, and worried glaces. It spoke volumes, even to John, who wasn't a genius like Sherlock. Finally, he pulled Sherlock to another room of the house, claiming he may have found something.

"Anderson has been looking at you all day."

"Obviously, John. I was wondering when you would finally notice," Sherlock replied dryly, looking around.

"Do you know why?" John felt a little exasperated at his friend, but kept his anger under control.

"Yes. I have been misleading Anderson for quite some time by setting pretences that I am a vampire."

John opened his mouth to say how ridiculous it was, before the last several crime scenes floated back Sherlock had avoided Sally Donovan like the plague, claiming she had smelled awful. John had came by, and had only smelled garlic on her breath.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Several months, I have been hypothesizing on when Anderson will finally crack and bring a wooden stake and mallet to work with him."

John burst out laughing, "You're being serious, aren't you? But that doesn't answer my question."

"Yes. As to why Anderson is looking at me all day, I have several theories."

"And they are?" John prompted.

"He doesn't smell of garlic, nor are there any abundance of mirrors around. I have avoided direct contact with sunlight as I usually do."

"Have you shown any aversion to holy water near him?" John asked suddenly, remembering Anderson had looked extremely pleased with himself after Sherlock had laid a bare hand on the staircase railing leading upstairs.

"No, I have had no chances to-" Sherlock trailed off, and his eyes lit up, "That's it. He's waiting for me to have an adverse reaction to the holy water he put on the stairs. I thought the railing was a little damp."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought the cleaners may have come, the Yard has released the downstairs to them."

"So soon?"

"The victim was the daughter to a very rich retired politician, Lestrade is being pressured on all sides on this case."

"Which is why-"

"He called me. Back to the matter at hand. What would be a good enough reaction, do you think?"

"A chemical burn, maybe, but those could be-" John stopped as soon as Sherlock swiftly left the room. John hurried after him.

"Did you find anything?" Lestrade asked.

"No. John thought he saw something, but obviously he did not," Sherlock spotted the bathroom, and entered quickly, beckoning John in. He shut the door before Lestrade could say anything.

Sherlock opened the container of bleach he found under the sink, "What are you doing?" John asked, leaning against the door.

"I have a slight allergy to most strong chemical cleaners, John. I'm surprised Mycroft hasn't sent you my medical records yet."

"He has, but I haven't read through the whole thing yet. How bad is this reaction?"

"It is mild. I'll get a rash that will last a few days. I trust you will monitor it's healing progress?"

John nodded. Sherlock twisted the bleach open, and held his hand over the sink, palm facing up. He poured a fair amount of bleach on his hand. The detective made no sign of discomfort, despite the rapid redness spreading on his hand. He shut the bottle and rinsed his hand off when he was pleased with the results.

The hand was red, and irritated. John could tell by looking at it, it would develop blisters before the week was done. Sherlock examined his hand for a moment, before stepping out of the bathroom past John.

He walked down the stairs, coat billowing behind him. John followed, watching Anderson from the corner of his eye. Anderson caught sight of Sherlock's hand, and his face lost all colour.

They left the crime scene, John barely able to keep his expression in check as they walked right by Anderson.

When they got to a taxi Sherlock called, they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"The next time Anderson shows up, we should take the mirror in the bathroom down," John suggested.

Sherlock snorted, "And move all the garlic we own into Mrs. Hudson's fridge."

"If we keep this up, I bet Anderson will break in less then a year," John said.

"I agree, I believe it may be quicker, however."

John nodded, "Fifty pounds? I win if it's closer to the end of the year, you closer to now?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes."

(LINE BREAK)

I wrote this after seeing a post on Pinterest, saying that Sherlock pretended to be a vampire, with John assisting him in any way possible just to torture Anderson. I laughed a little too much at the prompt, and the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Several weeks later John, Lestrade, Sherlock, Anderson and Donovan were sitting in Lestrade's office, looking at paperwork from a case. Anderson set the file he was reading through, and rubbed his eyes, "Coffee?"

John sighed, and nodded, "Please."

"Black, two sugars," Sherlock muttered, scanning the document in front of him, not paying attention."

"I'll help," Sally stood up, setting the pile she had been reading through on the desk, and left with Anderson.

The case they were working on was long, spanning the last decade. They were trying to find the culprit of many murders, and even Sherlock was missing pieces of the puzzle. Lestrade had asked them to read through the old case files, and see if they could find anything new. So far, they had had no luck, and had been awake for a long time without a break.

John sighed, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, "Sherlock, put it down for a minute. You're straining your eyes."

Sherlock didn't even blink, just kept on reading. After a few minutes, Donovan and Anderson returned, balancing more coffee cups then they would normally try to carry. Sherlock accepted his from Anderson, not even acknowledging the other man.

John remembered the last few times Anderson, or Donovan had given himself or Sherlock anything. Most of the time, whatever it was it had been loaded with garlic. Sherlock also deduced a few of the items had been coated, or filled with holy water as well, but they hadn't found any obvious clues.

After each incident, Sherlock made a point not to go to any crime scenes, or even leave the flat, for several days afterword. If questioned, John shrugged, saying Sherlock had gotten sick. Anderson had become even more suspicious, and had apparently recruited Sally.

Sherlock sipped the coffee, not taking his eyes from the file. He blinked suddenly, pulling back and looking at the coffee. He looked at Anderson, shrugged and continued on, drinking the coffee. John watched as Anderson grinned into his own cup of coffee.

Sally was plainly watching the consulting detective, not trying to even cover up the fact she was waiting for something. John carefully took a sip of his coffee, but found it tasted normal. He went back to reading.

Several minutes later Sherlock stood up, and left, setting the cup and file on the table. John swallowed the last of his coffee and followed, wondering what his friend was doing. John followed his friend to the bathroom, and heard the sounds of someone retching.

John winced, "You alright?"

Sherlock coughed, "Fine. Anderson spiked the coffee with holy water. Need to pretend to be sick."

John rolled his eyes, "Doesn't pretending to be sick involve not actually being sick?"

"Anderson won't believe I've suddenly fallen ill without me looking like I am," John could practically hear Sherlock roll his eyes. John winced again as Sherlock dry heaved into the toilet. Sherlock flushed, and came out of the stall, looking composed but pale and shaky.

He went to one of the sinks, rinsed out his mouth and spread some water on his face, "I'll wait for you near the door. Get our coats and the file I was reading. Tell them I've come down with something, blame it on Mrs. Hudson's cooking if you have to."

John nodded, and went back to Lestrade's office. He grabbed his coat, Sherlock's coat and scarf and the file Sherlock had been reading. Lestrade looked up from his own file, "What's going on? He found a lead?"

John shook his head, frowning as if in worry, "He's come down with something. Probably the fish Mrs. Hudson practically shoved down his throat earlier. He'll be fine in a day or two. If you can drop off a few more files for him in the morning, we'll all appreciate it."

Lestrade nodded, "This is happening a lot, are you sure he's alright?"

John shrugged, "You should see his file. He'll be fine, just run into a battle with his 'transportation', that's all. Good luck, text me if you find anything."

Lestrade nodded, and John left. Sherlock was waiting just inside the door, still looking terrible. The security guard was watching them intently. Sherlock shrugged on his coat and went outside, calling a cab.

Even John was sure the security guard would tell Anderson that Sherlock had been ill.

(LINE BREAK)

Author's note: Still don't own Sherlock. If you have questions/comments/suggestions let me know in your reviews or PM me. I'm open to suggestions!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I still do not own Sherlock. I want to thank everyone that has reviewed, given me suggestions, and had liked/favourited, followed this story. A special thanks to VerbaVolant, the person who has given me many ideas, and the idea for this part of the story.

Thanks, as always, you can PM me/review ideas, comments, questions and suggestion. (Although, if you have a suggestion, I would prefer a PM, so people won't be able to guess what I'll do next)

(LINE BREAK)

Greg Lestrade sighed, running his hand through his hair. The pile of folders had not dissipated from his table, if anything there were more files then when they had started. He had sent the others out for the afternoon, saying they would all do better with a fresh view. Lestrade himself had left, only returning to his office half an hour ago. He was waiting for Anderson, Donovan, Anderson, John and Sherlock to return.

As if thinking about them made them all return, he spotted them coming down the maze of cubicles. Lestrade sat up a little straighter, grabbing the folder he had put down when he left. Out of habit, Lestrade's eyes scanned the group; all of them were well rested, even Sherlock. One look at John, however, made him double-think his assessment. He had not seen the doctor behind his much taller comrade.

John looked pale and tired, one of Sherlock's scarves wrapped around his neck. John smiled weakly when he saw the Detective Inspector staring at him. John shed his coat, leaving the scarf firmly in place. Sherlock handed John his own coat, and John set it on the couch beside him, on top of his own coat.

Lestrade handed John a file, purposefully brushing his hand against the other man's. The hand was cool, but steady. Lestrade decided that if the doctor truly was ill, then he wouldn't have come back. Even the great Sherlock Holmes had been taken out of the picture for two days after he had fallen to food poisoning.

After an hour, John had set down his folder, rubbing his eyes. John sighed, leaning back into the couch. Lestrade watched as Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sherlock stood, and got his coat. He rummaged through the pockets, before pulling out a small plastic bag of homemade cookies, and a juice box.

Lestrade felt his jaw go slack as the consulting detective hand over the food to John. John looked at him, eyes wide with shock, "Why?"

"You need to replace what you've lost. I won't have you getting sick on me."

Anderson was staring openly at the two, a look of shock and horror across his features. Donovan was watching discreetly over her own file, carefully controlling her own expression.

"Thanks," John muttered, eating a cookie.

Sherlock shrugged, "I do assume you would want to do it again."

"Of course. You know I enjoy helping people."

Lestrade watched the two, confused. What were they talking about? Anderson's face drained of all colour, and he looked very close to throwing up, or fainting. Donovan had given up trying to be discreet, and was now openly watching.

"Thank you, John."

"Thank me in a few weeks when I can do it again."

Lestrade shrugged internally, he would ask the pair about it later, or perhaps Anderson, he seemed to know what was going on. The next couple of hours passes quickly. Even though John fell asleep, the group made good progress, linking together a few coincidences with Sherlock's genius.

After that, Lestrade decided that they should all go home. There was something clearly wrong with John, and Sherlock kept shooting him concerned glances when he though no one was looking. Donovan and Anderson practically fled the room, barely pausing to get their coats.

Sherlock, however, put on his coat, and gently prodded John into wakefulness. Lestrade watched as the energetic Sherlock helped the still half-asleep John into his coat. Sherlock and John left after a curt goodbye.

Lestrade watched their retreating backs, wondering what was going on. Even to him, Sherlock seemed more alive then usual. The detective looked as if he'd had a decent meal or two, and several hours of sleep. Lestrade shook it off, he would talk to Anderson and Donovan in the morning first. If he needed to, he would then stop at 221b Baker St.


	4. Chapter 4

John was half asleep when he heard a knock at the door. He sighed in annoyance, couldn't he get any peace? Sherlock was off somewhere, unlikely to answer it himself. John struggled to his feet, fighting the dizziness that accompanied his sudden movements.

_How much blood did they take?_ John had immediately signed up when the hospital had asked for donations to the blood bank. Sherlock had jumped to the idea, going as far to even sleep and eat so he looked refreshed.

John opened the door to see one annoyed Lestrade. John smiled weakly, "Good evening."

"Something's going on, and I don't want to know. Anderson and Donovan refused to tell me, and I doubt you will either. I want you to promise me something."

John blinked, tired brain attempting to keep up, "What?"

"I want to make sure no one dies, or get seriously injured. Either you or the others."

John ran a hand through his hair, successfully putting everything together, "I promise."

Lestrade nodded, "Good. Just make sure you tell Sherlock," The Detective Inspector turned on his heel, and left.

John sighed, shut the door, and shuffled back to the couch. He lowered himself into the cushions, and was soon asleep.

(LINE BREAK)

Anderson found John standing outside of Lestrade's locked, and empty, office. Anderson checked a sigh, and pulled out the key Lestrade had given him. Anderson didn't ask where Sherlock was, he didn't want to know.

Anderson unlocked the door, swinging it open for John to enter. Anderson turned in, and saw Sherlock sitting in the office, already reading a file they had not read through on the table. Anderson blinked, he had just _unlocked_ the door, hadn't he?

Sherlock glanced up from the file, "Hello John. You're late."

John shrugged, "I had trouble catching a cab," He sat beside his friend, and picked up a file of his own.

Anderson rolled his eyes, "If you're so bloody brilliant, why haven't you figured out who's doing this?"

Sherlock glared, "Shut up, Anderson. I can't think if you're staring at me."

John held his file closer to his face, obviously trying not to laugh. Anderson looked at the pair, and wondered if his theory was correct. John looked better then he had before, and Sherlock was back to his half-starved, sleep deprived self.

Anderson turned his thoughts back to how Sherlock had gotten in the room. He made a mental note of it, and picked up a file; if Lestrade caught him not working he would get lectured.

(LINE BREAK)

Anderson walked into the library, and straight to the section he had started to frequent as of late. He picked up the heavy book, and flipped through it. Eventually, he came across a vampire myth that described how vampires managed to get into locked rooms. Apparently, they could shrink themselves.

Anderson thought it over, it seemed a little lucrative, even for Sherlock. He shut the book, and started thinking about John again. The doctor had clearly lost blood, perhaps he had given some to Sherlock? That seemed the most likely explanation, in Anderson's eyes. Then a sudden thought struck him, what if Sherlock was turning John into a vampire?

(LINE BREAK)

Author's note: Sorry, I just seriously wanted to end it there, jut to be a bit evil. Thank you everyone for your continued support. I especially thank: VerbaVolant, YayaPear, and InkySpectacles for all their suggestions!


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade stared at the scene in front of him in shock. To his left, John and Sherlock were leaning against each other, laughing. To his right, Anderson held a wooden stake and a mallet. Lestrade ran a hand over his face, all of the little incidents over the last few months beginning to add up.

Anderson looked angry and increasingly confused. He lowered his left hand, it contained the mallet, but kept his right held in a defensive position. Lestrade looked at Sherlock and John, whose mad laughter was beginning to die down. Sherlock rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a fifty pound note from it. He handed it to John, who smugly smiled and pocketed it, "I can't believe I won that."

"Nor do I," Sherlock glared at Anderson, "And only by a week. I was sure you would snap before now."

"What in the hell is going on?" Lestrade demanded.

"Nothing. Just a harmless bet... at Anderson's expense. Come, John," Sherlock whipped around and strode out of the room, John following.

Lestrade turned his attention to Anderson, and gave him a dissaproving look, "You're not going to tell me what that was about, are you?"

Anderson shook his head wildly, and pocketed the stake and mallet, "No," then he too, made an escape.

Lestrade sighed to his empty office, and wondered what he had just witnessed. He shrugged it off, however, after quickly deciding that he was better off not knowing.

(LINE BREAK)

Author's Note: This is it! This is the last chapter!

Please don't feel bad. If anyone has any good suggestions left, I'm posting a new story full of Sherlock drabbles based off of various plot bunnies, prompts, and headcannons. I'm willing to take requests for that as well, so PM me, or review what you think is a good idea. I already have one of the new drabbles set up, I'm just waiting to write a few more before posting them.

Oh, I still don't own Sherlock...


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